Forget Me Not
by KartheyM
Summary: This enterprise is kind of based on the Nolan "Batman" universe, but it plays out like a TV episode/series. And the characters are more based on the movie than the original comics. (I'm not usually a "comic-fan" type person, so this might err on the more dramatic side than action/superhero!) *Mild language (maybe 1 or 2 words per chapter) Thanks for reading! *PLEASE REVIEW :)*
1. Chapter 1: Target Acquired

_Bruce stared across the desk, but try as he might, his eyes could not focus on the man sitting there. Glimpses of a grey pinstripe suit, a blue tie...possibly a wide girth, but nothing more. The man had a low, hollow-sounding voice—obtuse came to mind—but Bruce could not distinguish the words. He tried to stand up, to get at a better angle to see the man, but he could not move. He looked down. His hands were bound to the chair—his black-gloved hands. His Bat-suit! How did he find it? He could not even think about where he had hidden it all those years ago. The man droned on, was he pumping Bruce for information? Something that sounded like "count it good" stood out from the muddy syllables..._

Bruce Wayne shot awake, sitting up and breathing heavily. He crawled out of bed and paced, trying to erase the dream from his memory so he could relax and continue sleeping.  
How could one forget something that repeated itself night after night?

Bruce Wayne smelled the coffee before his eyes opened. He heard the trickle of pouring liquid, and he smiled. With a long sigh, he rolled over in bed and opened his eyes. Selina Kyle waited for him, his own shirt thrown over her lingerie, and a fresh cup of coffee in her hand.  
Bruce smiled. "Did I ever tell you how amazing you are?"  
She sauntered toward him and handed him the mug. "Made it like I like my men," she murmured seductively.  
Bruce winked, "Black and strong?" he sipped, taking in the gripping intensity of the unadulterated beverage.  
Selina laughed and straddled his bare midriff as he set the mug on the bedside table. "No—dark and steamy," she whispered back, bending over to kiss him.  
"Good morning," he said as she pulled away and their foreheads rested agsinst each other.  
"Good morning," she replied. Selina rolled away as Bruce rose and began his morning grooming routine.  
"Where were you last night?" she asked.  
Bruce only winced as she could not see his face, never slacking in his movements to give her any suspicions.  
"We both know where I was last night," he reminded her, tossing her outfit from the previous night.  
Selina sighed and unbuttoned Bruce's shirt from around her to dress in her own clothes. "That's not what I meant, Bruce," she pulled on the dress and began hunting for her shoes. "I woke up around one thirty and you were gone."  
Bruce sighed. He'd been wrestling with the dream again, but she didn't have to know that. He turned to her.  
"I just went to get some water, that's all."  
Selina frowned; clearly she did not want to accept this, but clearly she did not have a choice.  
Bruce was already grabbing coffee and a muffin. "See you at the office," he kissed her quickly and strode out the door.  
Selina sighed and returned to her section of the master bedroom closet to select a more appropriate outfit for the day.

Selina stepped out of the taxi, coffee in hand. She knew Bruce would be watching for her, even from his office near the top of Wayne Tower. She stopped and waved toward the winking windows several dozen stories above her.  
She was glad they were together now; Bruce really knew how to treat a girl, and now that they both were mature enough to fall comfortably into their professional lives, there was less need for pretense and exaggerated playacting. Bruce was no longer the philandering money-tosser that he had been; his encounter with Bane had sobered him up considerably, and in recent years he had fully encompassed the great man his father had been, both as a person and a businessman. Seeing him change had motivated Selina to become better, herself. She allowed herself a small smirk as she exited the elevator into the last place Catwoman would ever so much as consider going: Wayne Security & Insurance.  
Selina, as part of what Bruce called "re-entry into normal life," had taken the position of secretary to George Villen, an investigator in the company. It was an unspoken universal understandng that Selina's role functioned beyond normal secretarial duties, to some criminal-informant consultations. She greeted Mr. Villen, who crouched over his desk like an angry gorilla, glaring at the claims lined up in front of him.  
"What are we looking at today?" she asked, attempting to keep the atmosphere as stress-free as possible.  
George pointed to each one in turn.  
"Francis Hyster: jewelry stolen, house broken; Darla Parkman, stolen vehicle; Marcus and Gloria Benton, repeated false alarm trips, yet supposedly during one of these their house was actually being robbed; which brings us to my favorite—" Villen picked up the last claim and showed it to Selina with a dark grin. "Life insurance claim filed a week ago."  
"What's so wonderful about that?" Selina asked, peering at the claim, "It means somebody died, doesn't it?"  
"Typically, yeah," Villers laid the stack back on the table, "but this is Gotham. See the name?"  
"Laura Danvers."  
George bent over his laptop and began calling up information and feeds, "This is where it gets fun. This claim was dropped off in person by an unidentified woman, who then went on a shopping spree at Clementine's. Guess whose credit card showed up?"  
A smile played at the corners of Selina's mouth as she guessed, "Ms. Danvers?"  
Villen shook his head, "We haven't gotten confirmation yet that it was actually her—"  
Selina rolled her eyes, "Oh please," she groaned, sliding in front of the laptop and flexing her fingers, "I hate waiting."  
In a few keystrokes, she had hacked into the store's security feed and pulled up the footage from the time and day in question. Two minutes before the time stamp on the receipt, a woman appeared at the counter with an armload of evening gowns and lingerie. She kept her head down as the cashier rang up each of the items recorded on the receipt—then, in the moment before she signed the receipt, the woman lifted her head. Selina froze the frame that held a clear shot of her face.  
"Damn..." Villen breathed. He squeezed Selina's shoulder. He smiled at her, "This is why I keep you, Kyle."  
Selina kept her mood detached, but allowed a satisfied smirk. "And I thought it was for the sexy factor," she teased.  
"Absolutely," Villen was busy shipping forms, memos, and reports to all the right people, "And you're never hotter than when you're doing what you do best!" He moved toward the door to inform his supervisor, but paused with his hand on the doorpost.  
"Hey," he glanced back to Selina, "Would you mind taking a look at the other reports? There's not an investigator in the building who can pick out fraud like you do. Not even me; you're like a friggin' wizard at these things."  
Selina did not feel very wizardly, but she forced herself to smile. "Sure; I'll get right on it."  
Villen disappeared, and Selina's face fell.  
Of course she was good; this was because she had spent so long pulling the same crimes herself, and getting away with it! She could pick out the slips and foibles of a fraudulent form because she was so sensitive to sniffing them out in her own attempts. She took a red pen, marked the forms where the claimant confused the fabricated story, and sat back to think about something else while she waited for Villen's return. She thought about Bruce.

Things were changing between them. For the first time, Selina was in a relationship where she did not have to prove her skill, or resign herself to the fact that she was just a nebulous, pleasureable entity in this man's life, like a hobby or a board game. Bruce made her feel like a person; he listened to her, he looked into her eyes when they talked—and he spoke of them together. Lately, he'd been dropping phrases like "maybe we will" and "after this is over we can" and terms like "us" and "settle." Selina savored the warm feeling blossoming over her body as she cnsidered the implication of these things. She could not remember a time when she ever felt like she belonged with someone. Her whole life had been looking out for Selina Kyle. She had to take care of herself because she could never count on someone else to do that. If she ever once let her guard slip, she would surely be high, dry, and destitute.  
Then she met the Batman. He entered her world as a challenger, an indomitable adversary just begging for someone like Catwoman to outwit and overcome him. If he was going to become crime's most successful adversary, she would be his doppelgänger, crime's greatest ally. When all other criminals cowered in fear, Catwoman laughed in the face of the vigilant bat and dared him to dominate her. He had better chance of grasping a waterfall, she thought—except waterfalls didn't have hearts.

To subdue a man, she learned long ago, one must go for the heart. Reach a man's heart, and he is powerless against you. She who would not be mastered—even in a profession that professed to satisfy men's desires—succeeded time and again, leaving a string of deluded fools who paid with everything to get what they thought they wanted…never knowing that the girl who promised to give it to them always walked away unscathed and unspent.  
Except the Batman.  
Every time she went for his heart, she found herself spellbound by what she saw. The more she learned of him to uncover his weaknesses and flaws, the more he intrigued her. Every encounter left her spinning, running, disoriented, and stupefied. He frightened her not with his menace but with his humanity; in fighting so hard to unlock the vulnerability of his heart, she had unwittingly exposed the vestiges of her own humanity to his inspection. The rules of dominance dictated that such negligence should be capitalized on, that the attacker may freely ravage his enemy as punishment for such weakness.  
_Not Batman_, Selina thought to herself, _Not Bruce Wayne._  
He never ravaged her; he never punished her. Any punishment she received at his hand was her fault alone: a successful punch during an altercation, or imprisonment in a trap because she had failed to heed the warnings or notice the signs. From Bruce Wayne, however, Selina Kyle had received only acceptance. Against the wishes of every other person in the Tower, Bruce had recommended "the ex-con" for a position with Wayne Security & Insurance, a position she filled very capably. When she expressed interest in the possibility of a relationship with him, he had accepted this as well. Granted, it could very well be a case of "keep your friends close and your enemies closer," but lately Selina had been picking up vibes that he might actually like being around her.

Villen returned, and Selina filed paperwork, filled out forms, and assisted in logistics till the security insurance officer tossed his pen down and sighed, "Well, I think we can call it a day. Good work, Selina. We'll see you tomorrow."  
"Sure thing, Mr. Villen," Selina gathered her belongings and exited the office. Bruce should be on his way down by now; maybe they could pick up dinner at the new Italian restaurant.  
She stood silent as she watched the elevator ascend toward her floor when she called it. Just before it arrived, she heard a chime behind her. The doors slid open to release an ecstatic giggle that made Selina turn around.  
"Bruce!" the gasp slipped out before she could stop it.  
The Chief Executive of Wayne Enterprises stepped out of the elevator wrapped in the arms of Jasmyne, a financial analyst at WSI. He barely glanced in Selina's direction before the blond woman in his arms moved in for another long kiss. Bruce pulled away laughing.  
"Walk me to the office?" Jasmyne invited him.  
"All the way," Bruce agreed warmly.

Selina quickly dove into the elevator to quell the surge she felt in the pit of her stomach. She berated herself over a lonely dinner of Chinese take-out. Why should she feel this way about Bruce? It wasn't like she owned him or anything! He and Jasmyne probably weren't serious; she would probably dump him as soon as she found something she didn't like, while he would not care in the least once the night was over. He would leave her in that office of hers, and come back to her. Selina threw on more comfortable clothes and sat in the den with the latest Bond film to wait for him.  
Dashing James dispatched the villain and received a tongue-lashing from the irascible M and a commendation from the Queen before Selina's quick ears heard the motor of Bruce's Ferrarri pulling into the garage. She switched off the movie and barely had time to register not one but two pairs of footsteps approaching the door before it flung wide and Bruce stumbled in, practically carrying Jasmyne in an energetic embrace. Neither so much as acknowledged her existence as they made their way toward the master suite. Bruce took care to shut the door behind him, and that was that.

Selina stared numbly at the oak paneling.  
"Sure, Bruce," she muttered to herself, "go right ahead. I don't mind using the guest room..." she sighed, "Not at all."


	2. Chapter 2: Area Secure

_She could see the floor of the exhibit hall rushing toward her. The shadows and the spotlights on the glass cases skewed her vision. Catwoman had trouble seeing straight. A terra cotta pitcher with ancient inscriptions etched on its surface danced in her periphery. Catwoman fought the disorientation of the dream state to try and bring the pitcher into view. Suddenly, the case popped up in front of her—but it was empty. Somehow, she was not confused by this; her immediate impression was that somehow she had taken it. The case itself remained intact, and there were no alarms; a testament to her skill. Her perspective seemed to advance through the hall, exploring the other exhibits. The result was always the same. Jade figurines? Gone. Ebony flasks? Vanished. A set of bronze ceremonial knives? Disappeared. Each time, Catwoman moved on as if satisfied with a job well done. At last she came to the centerpiece of the exhibit: a large golden sarcophagus of some sort. Catwoman advanced; for once this particular item stayed in her field of vision without swirling and jumping out of sight. She was close enough to see the glass surrounding it. Her fingers tingled as she reached toward it—_  
Selina jumped awake. She instinctively reached for Bruce beside her... But he was not there. She heard laughter echoing through the house, which reminded her why she was spending the night in the guest room. Selina smacked herself in the face with a pillow and flopped back in bed to puzzle over her dream.  
It was always the same dream every night. Always the same items in the exhibit hall, always disappearing, always her doing. The sequence was becoming as familiar as a memory to her; but she knew the insides of every art museum in Gotham, and none looked quite like this one. The most troubling aspect was the ease with which she slipped back into the thief mindset.  
I'm not a thief anymore, her mind screamed, desperate to rid itself of the alter ego she no longer needed. There was no reason for Catwoman anymore, because she had Bruce—didn't she?

Selina trudged to the master suite for a fresh outfit, almost dreading what she would find there. She opened the door and found Bruce alone amid a tangle of sheets. Pillows littered the floor. Jasmyne must have wobbled on home in the early hours. Selina hoped grimly that she was carried there by a taxi—about five yards on the hood of a taxi, that is. She didn't look at Bruce so he would not see the smirk on her face.  
She barely heard his relaxed sigh before his chest rested against her back and his arms folded over her shoulders. She tried to push away from him, but he held her tight in his firm embrace. Was it not just yesterday that she was thinking about how safe she felt when he held her? His breath smelled of cognac and strawberries. No doubt she would find the container sitting on the counter in the kitchen.  
Finally, she slipped out of his grasp and proceeded further into the closet.  
"Did you have a good time last night?" she asked. Coming from a woman scorned, it was more of a trick question. Any guy with his wits about him would know better than to answer this question.  
"Mm-hm...yeah, I did."  
Apparently, Bruce did not have his wits about him. He rubbed his face and stretched as Selina emerged from the closet and went to the bathroom to wash her face. "Did you?" he murmured.  
Selina knew that if she had anything in her hands just then, she would certainly snap it in half. The nerve of him!  
"Yeah," she kept her voice even, in spite of the seething rage inside her, "I did." Three deep breaths, and she could groom herself without breaking anything.  
She heard Bruce rummaging in the closet for a suit. "Is Jasmyne coming over again tonight?" she inquired casually.  
Bruce stood before the mirror and tied his tie. "Of course not," he replied immediately, "It's just you and me, baby."  
_You and me, baby..._ Selina wanted to hurl at the way he said it.  
"Just making sure you weren't completely losing your head," she murmured, more for herself than for him.  
"Losing my what?"  
"Never mind." Selina finished in front of the mirror. She stood and walked past Bruce, who sat sprawled on their short lounge, watching the latest news on TV in the few short minutes before heading to the office.  
Selina paused; was now a good time?  
"Bruce," she began, "do you remember that thing we talked about the other night?"  
He never took his eyes off the news. "What thing?"  
Selina sighed, "That conversation we had about—" she faltered; was he even listening? "_life,_" she finished.  
He did not react. "Oh—no, I don't remember. What about life?"  
Selina decided to forgo formality and keep up the ruse of friendship. She sat very close to him on the lounge and draped an arm around his shoulder.  
"Well, if we're going to be living together—" she laid the emphasis so thick that he would have to be deaf not to miss it, "I thought we might lay some ground rules." She planted a kiss on his cheek for good measure.  
Bruce blinked, "Didn't we have that conversation already? I don't recall."  
Selina frowned at him. "Never mind," she stood. "Soo… lunch today?"  
Bruce smiled, "I think I can swing it."  
Selina dismissed her confusion and winked at him, "Won't your boss be mad?"  
Bruce let her grab his hands and pull him to his feet. "I'll find some way to smooth it over," he joked.  
Selina smirked, "Hmm, maybe I can persuade him."  
Bruce reached for her, but she laughed and sidestepped his reach.  
"See you later," she said and walked out the door.

Bruce rode to Wayne Tower, and took the private elevator that went straight to his office. The quiet, extended ride gave him a space of time to think. Something bothered Selina, and he couldn't shake the sensation that she held him responsible.  
The minute he exited the elevator, his secretary Adair met him with a full agenda on her tablet.  
"Mr. Wayne," she didn't waste a moment, "I've got Bonnet Supplements on the phone, and there are a dozen proposals waiting in your office..."  
Bruce kept himself calm as he followed her, but inwardly he groaned. Maybe he should have never announced Wayne Enterprises intention to offer its financial support to independent businesses; sure, it was great for the public image, but he had contractors looking for their next big break in distribution and popularity materializing out of the woodwork. He accepted the phone from Adair and spoke with the representative of Bonnet Organic Supplements, agreeing to a dollar-match pledge with the company's startup costs. When he finished, Adair handed him a pen and he signed off on a new children's play park, a line of educational toys, a jewelry store, and a sporting goods consignment venture. There was a proposal for a new, affordable hotel, and one for developing nice, low-rent, cost efficient homes for Gotham's poorer residents. Bruce Wayne sat and tried to listen as salesmen pitched ideas at him from every different angle. He had no idea of the passage of time until Adair came in after the last group exited the office. Bruce rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch. It was nearly lunchtime already. Adair grinned at his fatigue.  
"Is the day nearly over yet?" Bruce joked in an exaggerated whiny voice.  
"You're halfway there, Chief," she chirped. "Betcha wish you had that other deal back on the table, don't you?"  
Bruce dropped the act, "What deal?"  
Adair glanced down, "The deal you signed last week, with the one startup that had connections out West—very profitable for everyone involved."  
"What was the company?"  
Adair looked at her boss nervously, "You don't remember?"  
Bruce shrugged, "I'm drawing a blank, Addie; must be the helluva weekend I had."  
Adair nodded. "Well, I guess that can be expected. Tell you what, I can see if I can get the information on that particular deal sent up to you within the next few days sometime."  
Bruce stood and prepared to take his lunch hour. "That would be great—"

The minute he left his office, a wave of relief swept over him. Sitting at his desk began to remind him of the reocurring dream. He had to get away from that. The warbling voice began to echo through his mind; had this man brought in the deal that he couldn't remember? He would find out soon enough. He couldn't let it get to him.  
Keep it together, Bruce, he told himself.

He was so distracted by the mystery of it all that he stepped into the open elevator before he realized it was not his private car. One of the secretaries stood in the corner. She smiled shyly at him. Bruce smiled back.  
"Hi, I'm Bruce," he extended his hand.  
She took it. Bruce smelled a delicious perfume.  
"Helena," she said.

Several floors below, Selina gathered her purse with a relieved sigh. Lunch at last! She could do with a sense of her new life, after being so constantly reminded of her old one. She pressed the elevator call button and wondered if Bruce was already in the lobby waiting for her.  
The door opened, and Selina saw that Helena the hopeless flirt hunched against someone in the corner. She rolled her eyes and boarded the elevator as Helena whispered to her companion, "Wanna go somewhere private for lunch?"  
Selina rolled her eyes.  
The person murmured back, "Sure."  
Selina whirled upon them, totally flabbergasted. She felt numb with shock as Bruce walked out with Helena.  
Selina was torn; part of her wanted to accost the two-timer, to expose Helena for the shallow bitch she was; but really, Bruce had never settled for just one girl in his life. Why did Selina ever assume that she could claim exclusive rights to another person? He wasn't her slave, for pete's sake!  
And yet... Selina mused as she headed to the food court for a lonely meal, was it so hard for him not to treat her like a live-in girlfriend?

When Bruce awoke in the middle of the night, Selina was waiting for him. She had started from her slumber just ten minutes prior because of the dream again. She felt Bruce leave the bed, and she waited till his bare feet left the room before getting up herself. Once and for all, she would find out where he went every night.

She found him pacing the landing at the top of the stairs; the moonlight through the tall bay windows caused strange shadows over his figure. He stopped, and Selina knew he'd seen her. She climbed the stairs toward him.  
"Is something wrong?" she asked him.  
Bruce blinked and shook his head, wiping his forehead as if dispelling a shadow.  
"Nothing's wrong," he said shortly.  
Selina waited for an explanation, but none came.  
"Come back to bed, then," she tested him.  
He waved her away, "I'll be there in a minute."  
Selina backed away; he sounded extraordinarily exhausted, more tired than she'd ever seen him. Maybe it was just poor sleep quality, after all. At any rate, it wasn't a romantic tryst, she could know.

The next morning, Bruce awoke from a sleep only interrupted by the nightmares to find that, sometime during the night, Selina had moved all her clothes (and herself) out of the room. He jumped up, "Selina?" Where had she gone? He knew she had been there when they both went to bed; had she just decided to leave him? He moved into the hallway.  
"Selina?"  
The door to the guest room was open. Bruce peeked inside and saw everything piled around the room. Her pajamas lay in a heap on the floor. He found a note on the bed.

**"So you noticed? Fine. I'll be sleeping here till you feel like telling me what's going on. -Selina"**

"What's going on?" Bruce muttered to himself as he returned to the bedroom to dress. He was wondering the same thing himself!

_*A/N: This is all I have so far! I will post more as soon as it is written! Thanks for waiting! -KM_


	3. Chapter 3: All Units Sound Off

Bruce saw nothing of Selina all that day. At lunch, he dialed his friend, former Police Chief Jim Gordon, now Retired Jim Gordon.  
"Bruce Almighty," Jim joked when he heard his friend's voice, "how ya doing, kid?"  
"Not too shabby," Bruce replied, "Yourself?"  
"Ehh," Gordon sighed into the receiver. "Retirement sucks."  
Bruce chuckled, "So long as you don't start playing chess with the man in the mirror," he warned.  
"Did you call me up just to tell me how old I'm getting?"  
"No; actually, Jim, I was wondering if I could invite you to dinner."  
"A dinner date with Bruce Wayne? Now you're talking!" the older man whooped. "I'd be more than willing to take you up on that offer."  
"Great," Bruce smiled, "Meet me at the Blue Jazz Grill at eight."  
"Should I bring a date? Is Mistress Dazzle coming too? How are things between you two nowadays?"  
Bruce hesitated, "Nah, just a man-date this time. It's—kind of what I wanted to talk with you about."  
The thing Bruce appreciated about Gordon was his understanding and sensitivity. "Jeez, Bruce; what did you do now?"  
Bruce winced, "We'll talk later," he said, and ended the call.

A few minutes after eight o'clock, Gordon pulled up in front of the Blue Jazz Grill and prepared to allow the valet to park his car.  
Accordingly, he rolled down his window at the knock.  
"Sir, can I have your keys, please?"  
Gordon did a double-take. "What the—_Hell_!" he spluttered as Bruce Wayne winked at him. "Bruce, you oughta be kinder to this old man! Maybe help me outta this car instead of performing like a trained monkey!"  
Bruce, meanwhile, laughed long and hard at the beleaguered man's expression. "Gordon, buddy, it's been way too long; you're losing your eyesight."  
Gordon climbed out as the real valet took the driver's seat. He threw a playful punch at Bruce's shoulder, "My eyesight's just fine, smartass! You better quit with the jokes if ya know what's good for ya!"  
Bruce winked as they entered the restaurant. "Where's the fun in that?"  
Gordon pretended to scowl and shake his head. "We all gotta grow up sometime, kid."  
They sat at Bruce's customary table, and Bruce nodded at the waiter. Gordon smoothed the napkin on his knee and leaned forward. "So... You and the Kyle girl; what's going on?"  
Bruce gave a wry smirk. "I've been wondering the same thing myself. But we'll get to that. What I really wanted to tell you about is the dreams."  
"What dreams?"

Back in the Manor, Selina ate a ordered-in dinner. Well, "ate" is the operative term; she was so preoccupied that she mostly picked at things. Finally, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed.  
"Hello?"  
"Jen?"  
"Holy crap! Kyle? That you?"  
Selina smiled at her friend's reaction. "Yeah, it's me." There was so much more to say, but Selina didn't know where to begin.  
Jen prompted, "So…how are things going?"  
Selina tried to come up with some kind of cover answer, but just in that moment of speaking with someone who actually cared, she broke. "Not…" her chin wobbled and her voice broke, "not good."  
Jen's voice carried genuine sympathy. "Aww, what's the matter?"  
"Bruce has been acting totally weird—well, okay, not weird exactly; but at least I'd thought he'd changed so much, and now he's back to his old self and bringing home other girls and partying just like he used to—and I've been having these weird dreams and I don't know what they mean, but it feels like I've been there before and done all this stuff, but I can't remember it!" Oh man, it felt so good to finally talk to somebody! "Am I going crazy, Jen?"  
One could always count on friends to know just what to say to this kind of question, above anyone else on the planet. And as far as Selina was concerned, Jen was the closest thing to family she had.  
"Yeah, Sel; you're certifiable. We established that years ago."  
Selina sighed.  
"Now," Jen continued, "What's this about Bruce acting weird? Why does that have you so worried? From the sound of it, his philandering shouldn't even show up on your radar; he's always been that way."  
"Not lately!" Selina rose to his defense. "Well, at least, over the last year or so. I think he's even been talking about settling down, Jen!"  
"Since when?" Jen was duly shocked. "Are you being serious?"  
"I thought I was," Selina admitted, "but it's like he's completely forgotten about last week and about me!"  
"Loser," Jen growled; then she brightened, "Okay, so then you said something about the weird dreams you keep having of stuff that you've done before."  
"No, not quite," Selina ran a hand across her forehead. "I mean, it plays out like a memory, but I could swear I've never seen this place before! And I, well, steal things from it, one by one, all except the big gold sarcophagus at the center. Then I awaken."  
"Hmm," Jen mulled the strange tale over in her mind. "You sure you've never been in that sort of situation before? Like maybe you did the exact same thing, but at a different museum?"  
"No, not really," Selina frowned in thought. "I don't recognize any of the things in the museum in my dreams, and I definitely don't recognize the museum. But I just can't shake the feeling that I really have seen it all before! Like, it all seems totally natural; that's what scares me."  
"Have you talked with Bruce about this?"  
"No; you're the first one. He's—we…haven't exactly been close lately, I mean, there's moments, but honestly, Jen, I don't think he'd understand."  
"Selina," Jen remonstrated gently, "you sound like you haven't even tried yet."  
"Well, he's hiding stuff from me too, so there!" Selina protested.  
"Stuff like what?"  
"How should I know? He won't tell me!"  
"I thought you hated waiting for people to tell you stuff."  
"Well—" Selina couldn't find a retort for that one.  
"The fact that you're waiting for Bruce shows how much you care about him, Selina; and if you care, you can bet your ass he cares, too. So what if he won't tell you what's bothering him? Show him you trust him enough and care for him enough to clear the air between you two. Be the one to take the first step." Jen waited for a response, but none came for several minutes. "Hello?"  
"Still here," Selina informed her. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around my best friend Jennifer giving me relationship advice."  
"You're welcome!" Jen chirped. "You know me; I can be very surprising when I want to be."  
Selina chuckled, "Oh, it's so good to talk to you, Jen! You're the closest friend I have."  
"Not true; you have a friend closer than that; so close, in fact, he's in the same house."  
Selina huffed, "So close, yet so far."  
"Just try it; if I'm wrong, you can penalize me any way you like."  
"Wow, someone's sure of herself!"  
"Yeah; unfortunately I learned more from error than trial." Jen let out a noisy yawn. "I gotta get to bed. Think about it, 'kay, Selina?"  
"Okay; goodnight, Jen."  
"We'll talk later!"  
"You bet!"  
Selina ended the call, feeling better than she had in a while. She threw on some loungewear and sat on the couch to wait for Bruce.

It was long after midnight when Bruce finally returned to the Manor. A few lights were still on, but he was too preoccupied to care. He went straight to the bedroom and changed into his pajamas.  
Jim had listened like a faithful friend to the weird dream, but he could make no more sense out of it than Bruce could. Was there still a criminal overlord with whom Batman had not settled a score, and this is what the man would "count good"? Why would the dream keep happening if such an event had nothing to do with real life? Was it a warning of things to come, or merely a bizarre set of circumstances from an overdrawn brain? Jim had brought up telling Selina about them, but Bruce knew better. Selina had enough problems to deal with; there was no need to dump his own onto her. Bruce was almost hesitant to fall asleep again; the dream was beginning to annoy him. He rolled over and tried to empty his mind of everything.

Selina awoke soon after Bruce entered the bedroom. She hadn't really been sleeping. She waited through Bruce's changing and pre-bed routine, until she heard the sheets rustle. She then arose and tiptoed over to his door. Jen's suggestion weighed on her mind, almost precluding all other thought till this one was dealt with. She licked her lips.  
"Bruce?" she called tentatively.  
He didn't move; she detected no change in the rhythm of his slow, steady breathing.  
Selina opened her mouth to continue, but she could not make the words come out of her mouth. She worked her lips silently before giving up with a sigh. She trudged back to the guest room. Reconciliation would have to wait till the next night... Or the one after that...

_*A/N: Thanks for waiting! :P This next part is shaping up to be a bit tricky... it might be a while. Meanwhile, let me know what you think!-KM _


	4. Chapter 4: Target On Approach

The next morning, Selina decided that enough was enough. She would find out the real reason behind this dream once and for all. She pulled out her laptop and began searching descriptions of the exhibits she remembered from her dream. After a few incorrect tries, she finally hit it.  
"_GOTHAM RESIDENT DELIVERS TREASURE TROVE_," a news site reported. "_The Portland Art Museum in Portland, Oregon will soon be getting the makeover of a lifetime, thanks to generous donations from a source who prefers to remain anonymous. The artifacts arrived from Gotham City this morning, and city news states that the museum will be arranging the exhibit hall in the next few days._"  
Selina scrolled through the page, and her heart almost skipped a beat. The pictures on the page were of the items in her dream! Most of them were only described, but the one in particular that stood out to her was the golden sarcophagus. Maybe this donor could be convinced to reveal why he was using her, and what he planned to do. Selina pulled up the website for the Gotham Airport. She would go to Portland to try and figure things out; Bruce wouldn't even miss her, she was sure.

Bruce Wayne awoke the next morning with two distinct realizations. First, he did not recall having the dream again for the first night in what felt like several weeks, maybe a few months. He felt heady, as if he had only been semiconscious over that time, and now he was finally beginning to awaken.  
Second…where the heck was Selina? Even if she woke up first, Bruce knew she always brought him coffee when he awoke. He couldn't even smell coffee anymore. Bruce slid out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. He stopped in front of the closet he and Selina shared—or they had, until all of Selina's clothes mysteriously disappeared. Bruce went about his morning routine with the distinct nagging impression that he had missed some very important detail of his life. Had he been sick, and she left him because of something he said or did to hurt her? Bruce got dressed and prepared his own coffee. The memory of sharing a few moments of the morning with Selina over the same coffee gave this lonely cup a bitter sting.  
Resolutely, Bruce rolled up a sleeve and took out his medkit. With the hypodermic syringe, he withdrew a small sample of blood, which he placed in a vial for Lucius Fox, his most trusted weapons manufacturer and chemical expert. If there was anything foreign in Bruce's system, Lucius would find it.

He stopped by the R&D department in Wayne Tower, the place he liked to refer to as "Lucius Land", as if it were some bizarre play-place.

Lucius tore himself away from examining the blueprints of a new kind of disaster-proof building when he saw Bruce.  
"Mr. Wayne," he drawled in his easy voice, "Good to see you, sir." He smiled, large white teeth on a dark face.  
"You too, Lucius," Bruce grinned and shook the older man's hand. "Do you have time for a small favor?"  
Lucius sighed and stared at his employer severely.  
"Mr. Wayne," he said in a mildly-irritated tone, "perhaps it has been so long since you last graced us with your presence that you have forgotten what it is exactly that we do down here. In such case, I am afraid a tour is in order. If you would care to follow me?" Lucius promptly turned heel and strode around the main area of the department.  
"Now, over here we are working to develop an enclosed train system, to improve the security of the trains housed inside them."  
"How—"  
"We're starting with a laser-grid idea; please, no questions till we finish. If you'll follow me, here I have a team trying to discover the minimum amount of any foreign material in which a plant can grow and survive. Once we figure this out, it could be a potential solution to world hunger. This team of researchers are trying to come up with a new idea for a line of educational toys, those ones are trying to figure out how we can apply the warning systems of various plants and animals to human interaction, to perhaps cut down on the number of muggings, and finally," he returned to the table where they started, "there's a team of engineers designing a disaster-proof building. Do you know what this means?" Lucius nailed Bruce with a look that said the older man knew what sort of answer he wanted to hear; Bruce was not sure he knew what answer to give.  
"It, ah—"  
Lucius Fox burst out laughing, a rich, thoaty chuckle, "It means I'm bored and I have nothing to do, because there are so many bright, enterprising young minds to do all the thinking for me." He clapped Bruce on the shoulder, "What can I do?"  
Bruce handed him the vial. Lucius held it up to the light to examine it. He raised his eyebrows dubiously.  
"Tox screen?"  
"The works," Bruce confirmed, "Known and unknown. I want everything that shouldn't be there analyzed and isolated. I want origins; I want sources. And Lucius…I want an antidote."  
Alarm flickered through the dark man's eyes, "You think somebody's trying to poison you?"  
Bruce's manner was grim, "I think they have already; I am thinking a lot clearer today, but I still can't shake that tired feeling in the back of my head that says that whatever I had is weak but not gone. I want it gone."  
"I'll put something together and send you what I find before you leave today."  
"Thanks, Lucius."  
"No problem, Mr. Wayne."  
Bruce returned to his top-floor office.  
Adair was waiting for him with a thick file in her hands.  
"I finally found it," she announced.  
Bruce reclined at his desk as he asked, "Found what?"  
"The info on that lucrative deal that you signed a few weeks ago."  
A few weeks…that would have been about when he first began losing focus, when he began having the dreams… "Why did I want you to get this file?"  
Adair laid it on the desk, "You couldn't remember it, for some reason. Anyway, it's all here."  
Bruce accepted it; maybe he could get answers now. He waved Adair away. "Thank you; that will be all."  
Bruce opened the file. There was the contract with his signature at the bottom, but what was it for? The language was excessively formal in an effort to mask its ambiguity. Bruce read every word in the lengthy contract, only to conclude it was some sort of artisan-historic venture he had committed Wayne funds to, but that was all he could make out. Not even the person specifically involved was ever directly referred to; Bruce found only the repeated mension of the Benton Art Foundation as the recipient and executor of the grant. Bruce flipped through the packet till he reached the profile on the founder, Mr. Benton himself. Apparently the man had far more experience in the professional world than his photo let on: scientific expeditions into the Congo, Antarctica, the Amazon, a brief stint among the indigenous Maori tribes of the Australian outback—basically the remotest places on all seven continents. The profile never went into detail about just what he did there, only what company he traveled with.  
This did not bother Bruce as much as the man's picture did. Bruce stared into the man's large, wide-set dark eyes, trying to figure out where he had seen him before—  
Inspiration; Bruce covered the man's face with his thumb and studied Mr. Benton from the neck down. His pulse kicked up by several notches: the color of the tie was different, but it was unmistakably the same man from his recurring dream! What was this man really up to?  
Bruce immediately opened the federal search engine on his computer the way Gordon had shown him once, and entered "BENTON ART FOUNDATION founder all known aliases and current address", just to see what popped up.  
The screen filled with text instantly, and Bruce read through it with keen interest.

He did not even realize how late it was till Adair tapped on his door. She approached his desk with a vial in her hand.  
"Lucius sent this up for you," she said. "You're supposed to drink it—"  
Bruce took the vial from her while she was still talking and downed the contents. The sour, chemical taste overwhelmed his tongue, remaining in his mouth long after he swallowed.  
"—with food or you'll be really sick," Adair continued, "and he suggested that you should wait till the end of the day, because the effect is a doozy."  
As soon as she said it, Bruce felt the concoction reach his stomach. He involuntarily doubled over, stone-faced at the pain of every muscle in his abdomen contracting at once. It happened twice more, then he felt a crawling sensation as the antidote worked through his bloodstream and his nervous system to eradicate the drug.  
"I'll call Tanner and tell him to bring the car around." Adair turned quickly to hide the smirk crossing her face.  
"_Must…get…to…Portland_," Bruce grunted, as beads of sweat formed on his deep-red face.  
"Not today; you'll be fine by tomorrow as long as you get plenty of rest tonight. I'll book you a flight for the first thing tomorrow morning."  
Bruce shoved himself onto his feet and shuffled toward the door.  
"Okay," he growled.

He barely made it to the elevator only to discover two floors later that it wasn't his private one. A man and a woman from his legal team got on, nodded politely to their stricken employer, and rode with him down to the lobby.  
Halfway there, the man turned to the woman and said, "You know, I haven't seen Selina Kyle all day."  
"Funny you should notice," the woman snorted, "she said she had a family emergency up-state. She left early this morning."  
Bruce listened with an interest almost exceeding his pain. Family emergency? He knew that Selina really didn't have any family. Whom did Selina know, then, in upstate New York?  
He crawled into the car, rode back to the manor, and Tanner helped him into the house. By now, the antidote was playing havoc with Bruce's head, affecting his vision and his sense of balance. Closing his eyes made him feel like he was tumbling head over heels through the air. Opening them looked like his surroundings were tumbling. Bruce laid himself on the couch, wrapped his head in a blanket, and endeavored to sleep it off.

A slight noise brought his senses to full alert. After scanning the pitch-dark room for several seconds, Bruce finally realized that he was on his feet, with no sign of the drug's effects whatsoever. Lucius' antidote had worked! Bruce ran a hand through his hair and checked his watch. It was almost one o'clock in the morning. How did—  
The events of the previous day, short as it was, returned to him: finding the truth about Benton, finding out that he had a house in Portland, Oregon—which happened to be the location of the art exhibit he asked Wayne Enterprises to donate to—and finally, the fact that Adair promised him a flight first thing in the morning. Bruce wasn't going to wait seven more hours. He called his pilot.  
"I want the jet ready by four o'clock."  
"Miss'r Wayne?" the man slurred, "'S'early! Where y'goin'?"  
The man sounded drunk or high—or both. Bruce knew that there would be no one available to get him where he wanted to go.  
"Never mind," he told the pilot, and hung up.  
He was feeling almost as good as he ever had in peak mental and physical condition. True he was much older now, but after living in a blue funk for so long, he felt like taking down a crimelord. And there could very well be one in Portland. Bruce walked over to the den, where he pressed a lever to reveal a secret panel containing all his "memorabilia" from his past life: keys to the Bat and his Batmobile, a few Batarangs, some grappling-guns, motion sensors, smoke-bombs, and the all-important cowl. These were for display only—they had been tucked out of sight for so long, Bruce had actually stopped thinking about them all the time—contained behind a pane of glass. Bruce didn't want to fully enter into his old life again, not with how happy he was with Selina. He had saved these items, and shipped the rest to his last contact, with instructions to keep them safe and never tell him where they were except in an emergency. Now, Bruce had an emergency: he needed to get to Portland, and he couldn't afford to wait. He moved to the lamp and flashed out three letters in Morse code. A soft click told him it was safe to remove the glass pane. Bruce did not remove anything but a set of keys, but he did activate the beacon in the cowl. He dangled the keys in front of the hidden camera. Ten seconds later, his cell phone vibrated. Bruce replaced the glass and closed the panel. He checked the screen of his phone.

"**1283 N Addams Avenue. Hope this is worth it. Good luck, Batman. -O**"

He smiled and texted back, "**It is. Thanks, Oracle. -B**"

Bruce packed a small bag and followed the address to the hangar where Oracle—the day Batman decided to leave Gotham—had secreted the Bat. Minutes later, he sat in the black cockpit as the skyline of Gotham disappeared behind him.

Bruce Wayne was headed to Portland.


	5. Chapter 5: Marking Drop Zone

Selina slid out of the seat of her luxury sedan, rented on her WSI company card. She wore a charcoal-grey dress, blazer, and fedora, complimented with pearl jewelry—a suitably nondescript outfit. She'd had the dream again last night; being in Portland only made it more realistic than it had ever been before. Selina stepped up to the front door and slid her black-gloved hand over the railing as she entered.  
Instantly, her mind kicked into high gear, exactly the way it always did when she was on a job. Selina smiled; the Cat was on the prowl. She meandered her way through the halls like an idle patron, stopping here and there to admire a painting or a sculpture. She counted six security cameras and three ankle-level laser-grid projectors, complete with a series of discreet mirrors to create an impassable labyrinth when security was necessary. She noted the security guards: burly men, but more adept at passive intimidation using their size and weight than actual use of force. She smiled to herself to think of them all piled on each other like sardines, the plastic bonds making creases in their fat wrists like the folds of a sausage. She moved through the exhibits, taking care to keep her face out of all the cameras as much as possible. She had a mission to complete; the sausages would have to wait.

Bruce secreted the Bat just outside the boundaries of the Portland International Airport. As he meandered into the long-term parking lot, he paused to take in the spectacular view of a majestic, snow-capped mountain that graced the skyline unobscured over the Columbia River.  
He spotted a man just loading his bags into one of the cars.  
"Excuse me," Bruce approached him, "are you a local?"  
The man—tall and lean, with thinnish red hair and a bushy red beard—grinned at him, "I certainly am! I take it you're not?"  
Bruce shook his head, "No; I just arrived from back East. This is my first time in Portland. Could you tell me," Bruce pointed up the river, "What that mountain is called?"  
The man nodded, "That's Mt. Hood; great slopes up there in the winter."  
Bruce couldn't believe his luck; the phrase from his dream wasn't "count it good"; now he realized that the man was probably mentioning "Mt. Hood"!  
The man was glancing at him strangely; obviously he had no idea what to make of this newcomer's reaction to Portland's iconic feature.  
"Anything else I can help you with?" he offered hesitantly.  
Bruce shook his head, "No, thank you; I just needed to orient myself."  
The man nodded. "Can I give you a ride anywhere? Hotel?"  
Bruce recalled his mission. "As a matter of fact, yes," he accepted the man's generous offer. "I want to tour Portland's art museums. Do you know where some of them are?"  
Another confused glance. "Well, the most obvious one that comes to mind is the Portland Art Museum. I can drop you off there, sure."  
Bruce climbed into the car. "Thank you very much."  
The man chuckled as ge started the ignition. "I'm Tom, by the way."  
Bruce shook the man's proffered hand. "Bruce; it's nice to meet you."  
"Likewise, Bruce; welcome to Portland."

At last Selina arrived in the hall she was looking for. This was Drop Zone Alpha, the place where she would do what she did best and make her employer millions—in insurance payouts, mostly. So many companies labor under the delusion that their clients are insuring valuables to guarantee that any loss or damage is not devastating; she wondered why so few had ever actually caught onto the simplest scam used by so many fraudsters: insure the goods, hire a professional thief to steal them, collect the payout, then arrange to sell the now-defunct items on a black market buried so deep in layer after layer of criminal hierarchy that no one will ever find them again.  
Selina milled around the exhibits with various groups; to the casual obserrver, she was just an interesting woman who inspected the displays closely. In reality, it wasn't the objects as much as it was the cases containing them that attracted her attention. She noted the contact points, the vulnerabilities, the security measures to bypass—then she shook her head. She wasn't supposed to be that kind of person anymore.  
"Come on, Selina," she muttered to herself, "just admire the displays like the rest of the normal people."  
She studied the stone tablet in the case. The Sumerian scratches looked like a crude child's drawing, a half-assed attempt at something legitimate. Selina peered closer.  
No wonder the display looked illegitimate—it was certainly faked! Selina could tell the work was done with a plastic stylus, on a clay/cement mixed medium—the forger didn't even have the decency to use authentic materials! She moved on to the other exhibits, anxiety blooming in her gut. The Persian combs and jewelry ensemble were excellent paste replicas, the terracotta jars were of the cheap modern variety, glazed over with varnish to look centuries old and hand-thrown—even the tapestries were just scraps of cotton cloth, aged and spattered, while the embroidery could only have come from a machine. Selina couldn't believe it: every item that had disappeared in her dream from this same exhibit hall was, in real-life, a fake! Who had done this? Had she come across it two weeks ago during a review with Mr. Villen, and her brain had been trying to solve a crime subconsciously this whole time—a crime she had not even fully realized until today?  
Selina saw the sarcophagus in the middle of the room; if the ones that disappeared were fakes, what of the one she could not get her hands on? Selina took one step toward it—and instantly, she ducked behind a display case, out of sight of the door as she heard a man speaking, "I once saw a display of the Dead Sea Scrolls in my hometown; these artifacts are truly fascinating."  
Batman! She saw him chatting with one of the guests, looking smooth and dapper in his grey wool trenchcoat and navy-plaid scarf. He appeared to be amiably chatting, but Selina saw him scanning each face; he was looking for her! It was definitely time to disappear. She scanned the plaque next to the label on the nearby display. "Property of B. Carmus." A business card fluttered to the floor, just begging to be taken up. She grabbed it and tucked it into her pocket.  
Selina switched the pieces of her outfit for another (years of experience had taught her to always either carry a change of clothes, or wear something that can be easily altered) and snuck right past Bruce Wayne in the midst of a crowd. She knew he didn't notice her because at that point he was asking questions about the donor, Tomas B. Cunner. Selina frowned as she exited the building; why did this man use different names, what was he doing, and what on earth did she have to do with it? The business card only had an address on it, no name or message. Selina knew that if she wanted answers, the only place she could be sure of getting them all was the apparent source of her troubles, Mr. Tomas B. Cunner/B. Carmus himself. Perhaps Catwoman could convince him to divulge the information.

_*A/N: Boy, this took me a while... Thanks for waiting! Can I get some reviews? What do y'all think? Thanks for following!-KM _


	6. Chapter 6: Bogey On Your Six!

As of 9 PM that evening, Mr. Cameron Bunts attended a party where everyone knew him by one name or another, but no one would have recognized him by his face. All of his aliases had received an invitation to this party, but he could have shown any one of them and been permitted in with exactly the same sort of acknowledgement. In fact, any of the guests would easily swear that B. Carmus or Tomas Cunner was present, but if pressed for a description, none would come. A name had entered the door, and solely a name attended the party that night.

Meanwhile, in his mansion just a windy two miles off of Burnside, the shadows skulked. At 9:04 PM, the security sensors across the doorframe placidly blinked away, the alarm system carefully monitored every catch and every doorway in silent vigil—and a lone formless thing twisted and slid her way past them all.  
Ghostlike she wafted through the house, first bypassing all the security measures then disabling them with much finesse and dramatic flair. He wanted a show, she would give him a show. She switched off the laser grid for one room, (full, she noticed, of antiques on display) but before she could proceed to the next room, a faint blinking light caught her eye: an auxiliary camera! Catwoman scowled as she peeled it from the wall. No wires; that wasn't something she saw every day. Wireless security feeds were too easy to remotely tap; their presence seemed to indicate the existence of an outsider. Catwoman snapped the casing between the claws on her gloved hands; a device on the side of the tiny camera caught her attention. Her scowl deepened.

_What if someone wanted her to think an outsider was involved?_ A silvery Bat-symbol winked at her in the moonlight. Catwoman shook her head; Batman had disappeared years ago, and besides, there was no way Bruce Wayne could have lugged all his equipment there with him. He might be in Portland, but he was doing his own thing.

_What if this was a test?_ Perhaps Carmus was preparing her to steal the sarcophagus as a part of a larger plan, and he had planted Batman's equipment in his house for no other reason than to exploit her one apparent weakness: her deepening relationship with Bruce Wayne. Would she allow her feelings to distract her, or would she continue on toward her goal?  
Catwoman tossed the camera over her shoulder and flipped onto the railing of the second floor. She carefully placed a scrolling laser sensor in a discreet place.  
"No red herrings for this kitty!" she purred, extracting another button-camera and moving on to the pressure-sensitive threshold leading to another wing of the house. Disabling this, she left behind a little surprise of her own. She would be on the lookout for Bat equipment as well as Cameron's home security. Lucky for her, Catwoman could count on the fact that Cameron, in planting Batman's stuff, would not place it in hard-to-reach places like Bruce might.

At 8:47 PM, that evening, a passerby in front of the huge mansion may never have noticed the odd number of gargoyles lining the roof. An extra figure crouched among his point-eared brethren, watching and waiting. Tomas B. Cunner had just left the house—or at any rate, his sky-blue Lamborghini had glided its way down the private drive to the main road. One couldn't be too careful.  
Bruce, using the limited stock of Batman equipment Oracle had left for him in the Bat, secured the entire house on top of Cunner's personal security. He hacked the security feeds and added some of his own, he provided new alarms and protective measures. He would catch the man at his own house. The taste of Lucius' antidote still coated his tongue; to Bruce it was the taste of vengeance. He would show Cunner who was really in charge! Bruce stared at the feeds on his laptop. Everything ran smoothly—for about 20 minutes. Then one by one the cameras winked out for no apparent reason.  
Bruce's eyes narrowed; possibly Benton Marcozzi (the man's real name) was a bit more devious than he'd anticipated. Bruce would have to find another way past the external security system.  
He pulled on the specialized gauntlets that enabled him to climb any surface and smiled. He wore the black body armor from his Batsuit, but not the cape. This would be a simple mission. The cowl would be intimidation enough.  
Bruce worked his way inside. He landed in a ballroom of sorts, with many items on display. Everything was quiet. The sensors on his cowl picked up the faint tracing of a laser beam that would emit a siren when broken. Working his way closer, he saw that the beam moved at regular intervals in an irregular pattern. He would have to make sure that when he shifted while the laser was still, it would not be to the place the laser moved next.  
This scenario reminded him of a run-in from his past. He'd been on the trail of a jewel thief, only to discover by the laser that the thief was working for Catwoman. Bruce smiled; how far Selina had come in recent years! He wondered if she had ever found out about the ring he'd recently acquired; perhaps that would explain her strange disappearance, since she'd always been something of a free agent. He knew enough about her to figure out that the "family emergency" was bogus, but not enough to conclude where she really was.  
Damn! Bruce had to dive quickly to avoid the wink of the laser. He'd been caught musing and missed his chance. He hit the floor at the doorway—right over a set of caltrops embedded in the carpet. Yet another Catwoman relic; it did not pierce his armor, but it shattered the silence and proved very uncomfortable. Bruce winced away the pain worked his way to his feet. This hallway had a few other items hanging on the walls—and a set of empty brackets. The plaque underneath told him that the missing item was an aboriginal Madagascar cowhide bullwhip.  
Bruce felt the anger rising within him. Not only did Benton plan to trick him, but he was using facsimiles of Selina's old equipment to do it!  
He must think he still has me under control, Bruce mused, so that I would start looking for Catwoman and forget all about him.  
Lucky for him, Benton didn't strike him as the kind of man who would actually use the equipment with the same skill Catwoman had.  
He climbed a convenient pillar to the second floor using the spikes on his gauntlets. His perusal of the blueprints for the house told him that Benton had a private office in a wing off the other side. He could see the hallway from his place on the pillar, but without his cape it would be a bit more difficult to get there.

"Well, well; look what the cat dragged in."  
Bruce knew the voice even before she leaned over the railing, grinning at him from behind her domino mask.  
Catwoman shook her head, "I should have known you would show up eventually."  
Bruce climbed a few more feet, till he was level with the second floor. He still had to figure out how to get across, but now he had something else to worry about.  
"Selina," he asked, "what are you doing here?"  
She laughed lightly, "What do you think?" she challenged. "I should be asking you the same thing, Bats; what happened to your wings?" She hopped up and crouched on the railing. "You're kind of useless without them."  
Bruce reached down to his utility belt. His grappling cable! Why didn't he think of that before? He shifted his position to aim better, and nailed the far wall with the hook. Letting go with his gauntlets, he trusted his whole weight to the cable and the winch, swinging and reeling himself in at the same time. He swung once underneath the second floor, and the reverse momentum allowed him to clear the railing and land squarely on the floor. He detached the hook as Catwoman appeared at his side, leering at him as she had when they were enemies.  
"Cat, you have to stop," he tried to reason with her; why was she behaving so strangely all of a sudden? Lying to him, sabotaging his equipment—this was more like the old Catwoman, not the new Selina Kyle he'd begun to grow close to recently.  
She simpered seductively. "Aww, that's sweet!" she gave an inane giggle. "Are you going to make me? I'm touched."  
Bruce tried to remain calm in the face of such psychotic behavior. "I don't want to hurt you," he warned her.  
Catwoman took out a whip, the same one she'd pulled off the wall in the hallway. She toyed with it, snapping it around Bruce's head as he stood. "Oh come on, now, don't be a spoilsport," she murmured. "It just happens that I have a professional policy concerning hurting other people."  
Bruce liked less and less where this was going. "And that is?"  
Selina suddenly let fly with a knee-kick that knocked Bruce backwards. He slammed into the wall and she calmly walked after him. She grinned maniacally. "Don't let anyone stop me," she stated coldly.  
Bruce coughed and climbed to his feet again. He had seen a vacant gleam in her eye, and he wondered if perhaps this lapse might be artificially induced. "The zombie drug," Bruce muttered to himself.  
Catwoman peered at him intently. "What was that?"  
Bruce shook his head, "Cat, you don't know what you're doing!"  
Catwoman hissed at him. She flailed with her whip, launching the attack with the air of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.  
Bruce leaped over the railing and latched onto the pillar. Catwoman jumped after him, digging into his unprotected sides just below his armpits, while the added weight on his wrist-spikes tore furrows in the sandstone surface.  
"Why do you care?" She spat. "I happen to be a professional; I know _exactly_ what I'm doing!" Still clinging to him, she pulled away from the pillar. The pair crashed to the floor, and both regained their feet in an instant. Catwoman didn't miss a beat, lashing out with kicks and claws. Bruce fended her attacks, while puzzling over how to help her. It wasn't like he could contact Lucius for more of the antidote. Not while she was convinced that she needed to kill him. Perhaps he might have a chance if he could remind her of their common enemy.  
"Cat!" He blocked her punch and grabbed her wrists. She kicked but he twisted around so that he pinned her in his arms. "I need to get to Benton," he grunted at her.  
Catwoman went limp in his grasp and slipped easily backwards between his legs, like smoke. She left her wrists in his hands as she stood quickly, forcing Bruce to let go before he punched himself in the groin. Catwoman kicked him in the ass anyway. "And do what?" she stormed angrily, "Ace me out of the biggest score of my life? _Hell, no!_ I have my retirement to think about!" She came at him again, but this time Bruce was ready. He threw up his fists in a defensive stance, throwing pinches whenever she left an opening. She continued her rant. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you? I seem to recall you retiring a _long_ time ago."  
Her words were savage, and Bruce had to force himself to remember that this was Psycho-Kitty, not the sane Selina he knew. "Cat, you have to stop," he begged her, even as he tried to subdue her.  
Catwoman backflipped around a pillar, giving Bruce a few seconds to catch his breath before she came flying out, legs poised at head-level. He bent back to avoid her, but she neatly twisted around in midair, landing on her feet in a crouch. "Make me, _grandpa_!" She gave a scream of laughter as she flipped and kicked repeatedly, beating him back down the hallway, just below where he wanted to be. "You should give up and go shopping; I'm sure they'd give you the _senior discount_ at the Surplus Superhero Store!"  
Now Bruce was certain she was under the influence; even in her early days Catwoman had never made a joke that bad. He tried again, "Where is Benton?" At last there was enough distance between them for him to take a running leap back down the hall toward the pillars again, climbing up the sheer surface to the second floor. He made it halfway down the hall before she caught up with him. Executing a neat cartwheel, she slipped around in front of him.  
"Boy are you a killjoy!" she chuckled derisively. She glanced down the hallway where the door to Benton's office lay. "I'm afraid he's a bit, shall we say, _inaccessible_ at the moment. You can leave a message if it's urgent...provided, that is, you can get close enough to give it!" She lashed out at his face again, and backflipped away, laughing all the way back toward the pillars. By the time Bruce reached the end of the hall, she was nowhere in sight.  
"Selina?" Bruce called into the eerie stillness. When she gave no answer, he couldnt resist a jibe. "Here, kitty-kitty!" he called, still listening intently for any sound. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"  
"No, dummy-dummy!" she returned. Bruce turned toward the voice as Catwoman emerged, clinging to the sandstone pillar, but poised to strike. She smirked at him. "Seriously, has anybody ever told you cats never come when they're called?"  
Bruce held his ground; apparently, baiting worked. "Are you a scaredy-cat?" he goaded her still.  
She bared her teeth and hissed, launching herself at him. She beat him back, heedless in her chagrin. "Oh my gosh, you went there? I always knew you were an idiot!" He almost snatched her, but she saw it coming and pulled away. She jumped up onto the railing again, swinging her hips teasingly. "Hey batter, batter! Hey batter, batter: _swing!_" On the last word, two things happened: Bruce lunged for her, and Catwoman produced her whip, lashing the end around the opposite corner and literally swinging just beyond his reach. Bruce missed and went sailing through the railing, but he lacked the momentum to continue across the corner as she did. Catwoman watched with satisfaction as Batman dropped out of sight.  
Hanging just below the railing from little else but the grappling hook on his belt, Bruce grimaced as the taste of blood filled his mouth. Blood and that god-awful antidote. He almost spit, but stopped. The antidote! It was in his bloodstream! Bruce worked his way up toward the railing.  
"Hey Cat," he called, "what was that condition you said for getting a message to Benton?"  
Catwoman returned to the edge, but she couldn't see Batman anymore. She answered anyway. "I said you had to get close enough to—" A strong grip yanked her off her feet and sent her spinning till she was face-to-face with Batman.  
He finished her sentence, "Give it." As soon as the last word left his mouth, his hands were behind her head and Catwoman struggled hard when she realized that Batman was kissing her—deeply, passionately. The taste of his blood filled her mouth, but it was still several seconds before he let go. She pushed back, spluttering. He'd _kissed_ her! Of all the degrading scenarios she had been through in a fight—  
Still, Catwoman tried to save face. She spat derisively, "You seriously think I'm giving that to—_hhurghk_!" Her eyes bulged and her stomach involuntarily heaved. Something was wrong; there had been something on his mouth that was doing strange things to her. Catwoman collapsed to her knees and clutched her stomach. "_Hunhh_!" she heaved again, as the agonizing pain went from tying her stomach in knots to threatening to split her head open. She stared at her adversary in horror. "_What did you d_—" she couldn't even rasp out the last word before the world went black and she faded into unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7: Target Locked

Bruce waited almost five minutes before Selina's eyelids fluttered.  
She squinted at him. "Bruce?"  
He smiled at her, "Hey, Sexy."  
Selina, as she got her bearings, only became more confused. Her eyes roved in confusion. "What—how d—where..." Her voice faded as she lifted her Cat-gloved hands begore her face and realized with growing horror that she wore her Catsuit. She blushed and wouldn't look Bruce in the eye as she asked quickly, "Tell me this isn't what it looks like!"  
"It is," Bruce answered simply. He helped her to her feet. "You were being drugged," he explained.  
Selina whirled on him. "I was drugged?" she snapped, "You were the one playing Three In The Bed, buster! Which reminds me—" She delivered a swift kick to his crotch.  
Bruce took it in stride, doubling over grinding his teeth against the pain. "Feel better?" he grunted from his crouched position.  
"Only if you don't!" She fired back. Somehow, she was still furious at him for things he did while totally unaware of himself.  
Bruce tried to make her understand. "Benton was drugging both of us, okay?He probably wanted us to kill each other."  
Selina scoffed, "The way you've been acting? I wouldn't need drugs to make me want to kill you."  
"Selina," Bruce sighed, "if you do, you're playing into his hands. Now if you'll just set all that aside, we can work together and get to Benton in time to stop him."  
She looked at him sharply, "Wait a minute, did you say Benton? As in Marcus Benton?"  
Bruce shook his head, "No, Benton Marcozzi, the stock-market millionaire from Gotham. Who is Marcus Benton?"  
Selina shook her head. "Never mind; all it means is that this man loves his aliases. We were being played this whole time."  
Bruce snorted, "Oh, now you tell me." His tone said, "It's about time!" and she resented that.  
"You know, if I was supposed to be the one to survive that fight, I could just leave you here and go after him on my own."  
Bruce pulled out the handheld computer that contained files detailing every security feature between them and Benton's office: coded doors, sweeping laser grids, and motion, heat, and pressure sensors, to name a few.  
Selina eyed it jealously. Bruce slyly tucked the device back into his pocket.  
"Oh, no you don't. This stays with me."  
Selina rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be such a jerk. If Benton sees you with me, he'll know we're onto him."  
Bruce smirked, "Oh, I don't know; maybe you should stay behind, so Benton will think I defeated you."  
Selina frowned, "What good will that do?"  
"It'll make me seem more intimidating, for one."  
Selina leaned back and raised her hands. "Whoa, okay, let's park your ego and keep it there. We go together, or not at all."  
Bruce spun on his heel and strode quickly toward the first obstacle. "Now that I can handle!"  
The instant he approached the first set of rafters, Bruce heard a soft click and a steel door fell into place.  
Selina stepped in front of him and smirked. "Genius," she muttered, studying it closely, "Now how are we going to get through it?"  
Bruce pulled out a few small charges from his utility belt. "Stand back," he told Selina, moving to place them at strategic points around the door.  
"That's your plan?" Selina cried, moving back down the hall, "Blow the door down? Need I remind you, Rambo, that we're in a house? The power of those charges could very well bring the whole place—" She stopped as the steel plate vanished, leaving Bruce's charges undetonated on the floor.  
"Hmph," Bruce shrugged and retrieved them, "I guess all we had to do was—"  
"Wait!" Selina called, but the instant Bruce crossed the crack containing the plate, it slid back into place, separating them.  
"Dammit!" she shrieked, pounding on the impervious surface.  
She could hear Bruce laughing. "Looks like you're going to have to wait till I get back!"  
"Bruce, don't move!" Selina ordered, "I think the—"  
She heard Bruce swear as the second plate slid into place.  
"Come back toward this way, Bruce," she said, "I think there are pressure plates on either side of the doors. I'll move back toward the end of the wall, and maybe your weight standing near the door will keep it open."  
"Why should I?" Bruce snapped. "I can just back up and—"  
Selina raced away from the door, and sure enough, it lifted, revealing Bruce on the other side. "Stay right there!" she said, and raced across the crack. Sure enough, as long as Bruce stayed near the door behind him, it remained open. They both moved together toward the next opening, only to have it close right in front of them.  
"Okay," Selina began to explain, "I think the hallway is made of pressure plates; the ones near the door make it close, while the ones further away open it up."  
Bruce nodded in understanding, "So when I moved closer to the far side of the first wall, it opened the second wall—"  
"While at the same time allowing me to open the first wall and keep it that way," Selina finished. "It looks like we're going to have to move forward one at a time, but still together."  
"So..." Bruce glanced toward the opening ahead of them.  
"Wait here," Selina stated, "I'll go through the opening first, and hold it for you." She moved past the second crack and waited.  
Bruce took one careful step forward. Nothing happened. He proceeded cautiously all the way through, to stand by Selina.  
She nodded to him. "Ready?" she asked.  
Bruce nodded and kept walking. He stopped just on the other side of the opening, and Selina joined him. She repeated the trade-off once more, and they were through.  
"So I was right about one thing," she muttered as they carefully made their way down the hall to yet another wing of the labyrinthian mansion, always on the lookout for booby traps of any sort.  
"What?"  
"You sure as hell couldn't have gotten past that without me."  
Bruce winced, "You were right about that other thing, too, I guess."  
Selina froze with all senses on alert. She held Bruce back.  
"Motion sensor, ceiling, 10 o'clock," she warned.  
Bruce pulled out his handheld computer and checked their location. "That's not all," he whispered. "There's a microphone at the end of the hallway, and the door has a keypad." He winked at her behind the cowl. "We go together, or not at all, right?"  
Selina rolled her eyes. "Okay, I think I can make it past the motion sensor and disable it, along with the microphone." She pointed to the device, "Do you think that thing can decode the lock on the door?"  
Bruce shrugged, "Not really; but I have other stuff I can use."  
Selina stretched her arms to limber up before her go. "I'll let you know when it's safe," she told Bruce.

Selina leaped toward the wall and, as smooth as a shadow, she skirted the sensor's range just long enough to attach herself to the ceiling about six feet beyond it. Digging her claws into the ceiling for an anchor, she hung by her hands and swung her body upwards, smashing the sensor with the tips of her reinforced boots before it could emit a solitary beep. She flexed her toes, releasing the crawing spikes in her shoes. In this way, she crawled silently across the ceiling to the microphone. Ever so delicately, she planted the claws of one hand into the plaster, while with the other she dug into the wall and severed the wires in one pinch.  
"Clear," she called softly to Bruce, lowering herself down as he ran to join her.  
As it turned out, the door had a keypad, but one that required three six-digit passcodes.  
"Damn," Bruce muttered.  
"You don't think you can figure out all three codes?"  
Bruce scoffed at her, "Of course I can! Why would you automatically assume that I couldn't? You think you're the only one that can get past these obstacles?"  
"Okay, geez," Selina took half a step back, "don't be such a pricklepuss; I was just wondering."  
"Watch who you're calling Puss, Cat," Bruce fired back. He removed his cowl and pulled a small UV flashlight out of a pouch on his belt. "I can figure this out, it will just take me a while." He scanned the keys on the number pad.  
"Okay, the only keys with prints on them are 2,3,6,7, and 8."  
"Good," Selina says, "That narrows it down from a few thousand to a couple hundred."  
"The 3 was only pressed once, so we can assume that it's used in only one code. The 2 and the 7 have been used the most, it looks like, with the 6 even less so, and the 8 looking a bit sparse."  
Selina nodded, calling on her experience as asafecracker to run through the list of possibilities. "Okay; it's probably not a birthdate, since the 3 is used only once, and the variation of numbers seems to be grouped somehow. Let's see...what would be a likely passcode source for someone like Benton?"  
Bruce mused over the keypad as well. "It's too short to be a phone number or any kind of personal number; the keypad is arranged like a telephone pad, so we can assume the codes are word-related, so what words are important to—" Bruce stopped talking and studied the keypad keenly. Suddenly he smiled. "I have it!"  
Selina watched him slowly enter the first code: 2-2-7-6-8-7. the box around the screen flashed green, and the second screen lit up.  
"How did you figure it out?" Selina asked as Bruce entered the second code: 2-8-6-6-3-7.  
"You helped," Bruce answered as the second code was accepted. "You said that Benton liked his aliases. I just now realized that every one of his three aliases included a six-letter name." He entered the last code, 6-2-7-2-8-7, and Selina realized that the codes spelled three names: Carmus, Cunner, and Marcus. The locks disengaged, and the couple entered a darkened room.  
Neither said a word; years of experience had taught them to listen first when entering a strange environment.  
A loud, slow clapping caused Bruce to flinch.  
"Well done, both of you," a voice spoke out of the darkness. "I'll admit I would have liked it to take longer, so that I would only need to contend with one of you after I had finished my work, but I don't mind having this chance to congratulate you personally on a job well-done."  
"Benton," Bruce guessed, moving closer to the source of the voice.  
"Yes, indeed!" the voice crowed from the far corner of the room. "Welcome, Batman! I must say, your efforts to insure the success of my venture in the business of art-scamming have been most admirable. Why, with the checks I have coming to me from Wayne Tower, I can easily buy back the art that I also arranged to have stolen and forged."  
Bruce decided to keep him talking. "Stolen by whom?"  
He did not hear any movement, but suddenly the voice seemed to come from another corner. "None but the best."  
Bruce wished he hadn't removed his cowl, because he could really use the night-vision right now. Something about the quality of Benton's voice struck him as odd. Bruce made a guess. "You're using speakers aren't you?" he inquired.  
Benton chuckled, and the sound echoed around the room. "Of course; I knew I was dealing with Gotham's most deadly, so I took measures to protect myself. You'll understand if we don't meet face to face."  
Bruce smiled; Benton was getting cocky. He knew that would rankle Selina. He could not see or hear her, but he guessed the reason for her silence and gave her a bit more time. "So keeping us in a dark room keeps you hidden," he said to the speakers around the room.  
"That's the idea."  
Only Bruce heard the soft swishing of a well-greased door on carpet. Selina was in position. "You forgot one thing, Benton."  
"What's that?"  
"One of us can see in the dark."  
There was a loud thud, and a frightened voice gasped, "What the—Hel—gghkk!" His cry for help ended in a faint gurgle, as if choked off by something.  
The next thing Bruce heard was a female voice ask drily, "Need a light?"  
A click set the room electronically ablaze, and once his eyes adjusted, Bruce saw that he was standing in a study of some kind. A door stood at the far end of the room, presumably leading to Benton's office. Bruce slipped his cowl back on and entered the office.

Selina had temporarily stunned Benton with a blow to the throat, and now she had a length of nylon rope with which she bound him securely to his chair, securing his wrists and ankles with zip ties.  
"He's ready," she told Bruce, stepping back to admire her work.  
Bruce nodded, "Wake him up."  
Selina grinned and pulled out her bullwhip. She snapped it right next to Benton's ear. The man revived instantly, and would have jumped right out of his chair if he were not secured so tightly.  
"Oh dear," he still tried to play the calm, in-control persona, "it appears I am tied-up. Perhaps you can come back later when I'm not occupied!"  
"Shut up, Benton!" Selina snapped, "I know you were the one who drugged us, and we want to know why!"  
"Why?" Benton echoed blandly.  
Selina snapped her whip so close to his face that he felt the sting, but it did not break his skin. "Why?" she thundered.  
Bruce just stood and watched.  
Benton sighed theatrically. "Oh well, I might as well explain it all to you, since you caught up to me anyway. My dear, I did it for money—money, and prestige. So many criminals have hosts of lesser goons in their employ, but I only wanted the best."  
"Your aliases," Bruce interposed, "those were covers so that you could get multiple grants from Wayne Enterprises for empty promises."  
"Ah, the Bat has a brain after all!" Benton sneered. "I was beginning to wonder, since you seemed to be so oblivious to it when it happened!"  
"But it wasn't enough, was it?" Selina added, advancing dangerously toward the captive. "You set off your own alarms, stole your own valuables from your house in Gotham, knowing that since they were insured with Wayne Securities and Insurance, they would have to investigate or reimburse you for the phony theft."  
"Of course! I had to get the Cat involved with my scheme against the museum; who else could I convince to steal the relics in just such a way so that I could come in behind and replace them with fakes?"  
Selina blinked, "The dream!" she gasped user her breath.  
"What dream?" Bruce asked.  
Selina felt her whole body shaking with the realization of how deeply she had been played.  
"You were going to get money from both sides," she accused, "and you were going to use me to get it."  
"Almost," Benton agreed, giggling crazily in spite of his predicament. "You were just my method of switching the artifacts. I wanted Batman here to make sure that the police didn't get involved, but also to make sure that things didn't get out of hand, either. Three is a party, you know," he winked at her, "but ten is too much!"  
Seeing him sitting there beside the desk, speaking in such a warm monotone reminded Bruce of his reocurring dream. He understood with a start that he would never have gotten the idea to bring his Batsuit or use his equipment to get to Benton if the dream had not suggested it. Benton had planned this from the very beginning.  
"Too bad for you," Bruce growled. "Your plans didn't work. Let's load him up, Cat; Portland Police will get a nice package tonight."  
Selina stepped forward and knocked Benton out with a well-placed punch. "It would be a pleasure!" she enthused.

Within the hour, Batman and Catwoman perched unseen on the roof of Portland's North Precinct building, watching as the bewildered detective read the full rap sheet pinned to the incapacitated criminal. Benton Marcozzi revived, and the police duly took him into custody.  
Finally, Bruce nudged Selina. "Did you want to go back to Gotham tonight?"  
Selina sagged, allowing the compounded fatigue to show for the first time.  
"Actually, Bruce," she replied slowly, "I think you and I have some unresolved business to take care of; there's some things I think you should know, and they have to do with Benton."  
Bruce blinked, "The dream you mentioned?" he queried.  
Selina nodded, "It was the same dream over and over, and it started—"  
"Three weeks ago," Bruce finished.  
Selina gasped, "Bruce! You too? I thought—" she stumbled over her words in surprise. "Is...is that what you wouldn't tell me about?"  
Bruce put his arm around her shoulder. "I think you're right; we do have some talking to do." He winked at her, "And I know a place where we can stay the night with some privacy."


	8. Chapter 8: Mission Accomplished

Bruce and Selina spent the night in each other's arms for the first time in a week. Slowly, quietly, the truth about the dreams came out.  
"It didn't even cross my mind that it had anything to do with you," Bruce admitted when he finished. "I thought I was just going through Batman withdrawal, and that if I told you about it, you'd just get mad at me and launch into one of your rants about not looking back, about building a new future and forgetting our pasts."  
"I felt the same way about my dream, too," Selina responded, snuggling closer to him. "I thought you'd throw it in my face if I told you; I didn't want you to think I was a hypocrite. Here I was, wanting so badly to leave my past behind, and yet it seemed all I dreamed about was stealing things over and over again."  
"To think," Bruce mused, "we both knew Benton and didn't even realize it."  
Selina couldn't resist digging her elbow into Bruce's side, "That's because we weren't talking to each other."  
Bruce winced at the jab, but he rallied, "Yeah, we," he pointed out. "How could two people sleeping side by side end up not trusting each other enough."  
"We've never taken the chance like this to just talk," Selina agreed. She sighed, "I guess when you live your whole life keeping secrets, that just seems like the easiest way to function."  
Bruce snorted, "If we had agreed to work together on this earlier, we might have figured out what Benton was up to before you went and robbed the Portland Art Museum."  
Selina pounced on him and began pummeling his chest. "That wasn't my fault, okay? I didn't know Benton was controlling me! I thought it was just a hyper-real dream!"  
"Ow, okay!" Bruce grabbed her fists and laughed as he pulled her toward him. Bruce and Selina kissed, just the way they had before. It was wholesome, and right, Bruce thought. Selina pulled away and looked down at him. Her face glowed, and he knew she probably felt the same.  
He reached for his utility belt on the nightstand.  
Selina smiled and grabbed his wrist. "Where do you think you're going?" she teased.  
"Nowhere," he replied, still reaching into one of the pouches. He saw Selina watching him, but he kept the item hidden. "I was thinking about staying right here," Bruce continued, holding up the ring box and prying up the lid, "Do you want to stay here with me?"  
Selina blinked, too astonished for words. Nestled in the velvet was a spectacular diamond ring: one huge diamond at the top of a silver setting. An engagement ring fit for a princess—and one Selina had worn before.  
She admired it on her hand, cupping the palm under her chin and covering her mouth with her fingers like a delicate actress. "The Liz Taylor ring," she gushed, mimicking the high, airy voice, "Oh Brucie, you shouldn't have!"  
Bruce chuckled, "I thought it might give you the chance to wear it because somebody gave it to you, not because—"  
She silenced him with a kiss. "I know; I love it," she whispered.  
"Besides, no one will believe it when we announce our engagement tomorrow unless they can see that ring coming a mile away."  
Selina gasped, "Really, Bruce? No forgetting this time?"  
"Absolutely, Selina," Bruce answered, "I will never forget about you again."  
Selina sighed happily and settled back under the sheets. "I'll never forget you either, Bruce Wayne," she whispered.


End file.
